‘GoPro,’ Marc says. The three of them put on the headsets. ‘We keep these on, ok? All times. Except the obvious.’
Kimble takes a deep breath and smiles at Marc. ‘The air is blue and green,’ she says.
‘Altitude,’ Linus says. ‘Makes you a little loopy.’
But Kimble is right. Marc breathes deeply and his lungs fill with blue and green.
They climb through pine-scented forest, dappled in sun and shade. After a mile or so the slope levels out and they come out of the trees onto a rise. The world stretches out in every direction, green and brown and far below.
‘We’ll set up camp here,’ Linus says. A ring of scorched stones shows that they are not the first, though it seems impossible that anyone else has ever set foot on this spot, in the deepest wild.
‘Let’s go tonight,’ Kimble says. ‘Let’s get into Nowhere.’ There is a set to her mouth Marc knows well. ‘We can—’
‘Stop,’ Linus says. ‘We look for the tunnel. The gate is welded shut but they still come down to Ault to raid. They must be using it.’ He puts a hand to his throat. He swallows and strokes the scar with trembling fingers. ‘We’ll start looking tomorrow.’
‘We’ll find it,’ Kimble says. She loosens, relaxes, stretches hard with her hands high above her head. Nothing makes Kimble calmer than the impossible.
‘And I get paid the same no matter what?’ Linus’s face is suddenly lined and sad. There’s need in it.
‘Like we said,’ Marc replies. He’s not sure what they’re goingto do about that part yet, but he and Kimble always think of something.
‘You sure about the gate?’ Kimble asks.
‘You can see it from here,’ Linus says. ‘Take a look.’ He hands her binoculars. ‘Track down from the dip between the third and fourth ridge.’
Kimble looks. Her face blanches. She hands the binoculars to Marc, guides his hand.
He sees a gap in the trees on a rise. Metal gleams in a clearing maybe half a mile away. It is reinforced with corrugated iron, topped with rolls of razor wire. It is ugly, meant to tear flesh. There are things speared on the spikes of the razor wire. They are small bodies. Birds; crows, blue jays. There’s something with russet fur, maybe a polecat. A pale, larger body that Marc thinks is a possum. They are impaled, splayed in death. There are also brighter patches of colour – blue, white, green. Clothing, Marc realises. Yellow fabric that might be a t-shirt. A pair of jeans. Streaks of something the colour of rust run across all of them.
‘What the hell?’ he says, to no one in particular.
‘That’s the gate to Nowhere,’ Linus says. ‘We don’t go near it.’ He bends to his pack to put away the binoculars. ‘Better set up camp.’ His fingers tremble on the buckles.
In the distance, by the gate laden with dead animals, a narrow point of light gleams briefly like a star. Something reflective, a mirror perhaps, is trained into the fading light. It comes again, winking in and out, once, twice.
‘What’s that?’ Marc snatches the binoculars from Linus and trains them on the gate to Nowhere, but by the time he’s found the spot, there’s nothing to be seen.
‘I guess they know we’re here,’ says Kimble.
Linus nods, lips pressed tight.
Marc goes close to Linus. ‘You’re afraid,’ he says.
‘Yes.’ Linus’s gaze is direct. ‘I nearly died here. It all comes back.’
‘What are you afraid of?’
‘Them,’ Linus says. ‘The Nowhere children.’
‘They’re just kids.’ Marc welcomes the anger as it begins to stroke gently at his skull.
‘I think they’re like him,’ Linus says.
‘Yes? Who?’
‘You know who.’ Linus swallows. ‘I think that woman you spoke to is lucky to have lived.’
‘That’s a big assumption.’ Marc takes Linus gently by the collar. He’s not sure what he’s doing but Linus’s words make him simmer lightly inside like water coming to boil. ‘You want your fifteen minutes of fame, fine. But you’ve got no moral high ground here.’
